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Page 85
"So now, my dear fellow, you see exactly how we stand
and why it is I want you. It is perfectly plain that
after the ladies parted from this man he followed them
at a distance, that he saw the quarrel between husband
and wife through the window, that he rushed in, and
that the creature which he carried in his box got
loose. That is all very certain. But he is the only
person in this world who can tell us exactly what
happened in that room."
"And you intend to ask him?"
"Most certainly--but in the presence of a witness."
"And I am the witness?"
"If you will be so good. If he can clear the matter
up, well and good. If he refuses, we have no
alternative but to apply for a warrant."
"But how do you know he'll be there when we return?"
"You may be sure that I took some precautions. I have
one of my Baker Street boys mounting guard over him
who would stick to him like a burr, go where he might.
We shall find him in Hudson Street to-morrow, Watson,
and meanwhile I should be the criminal myself if I
kept you out of bed any longer."
It was midday when we found ourselves at the scene of
the tragedy, and, under my companion's guidance, we
made our way at once to Hudson Street. In spite of
his capacity for concealing his emotions, I could
easily see that Holmes was in a state of suppressed
excitement, while I was myself tingling with that
half-sporting, half-intellectual pleasure which I
invariably experienced when I associated myself with
him in his investigations.
"This is the street," said he, as we turned into a
short thoroughfare lined with plain two-storied brick
houses. "Ah, here is Simpson to report."
"He's in all right, Mr. Holmes," cried a small street
Arab, running up to us.
"Good, Simpson!" said Holmes, patting him on the head.
"Come along, Watson. This is the house." He sent in
his card with a message that he had come on important
business, and a moment later we were face to face with
the man whom we had come to see. In spite of the warm
weather he was crouching over a fire, and the little
room was like an oven. The man sat all twisted and
huddled in his chair in a way which gave an
indescribably impression of deformity; but the face
which he turned towards us, though worn and swarthy,
must at some time have been remarkable for its beauty.
He looked suspiciously at us now out of yellow-shot,
bilious eyes, and, without speaking or rising, he
waved towards two chairs.
"Mr. Henry Wood, late of India, I believe," said
Holmes, affably. "I've come over this little matter
of Colonel Barclay's death."
"What should I know about that?"
"That's what I want to ascertain. You know, I
suppose, that unless the matter is cleared up, Mrs.
Barclay, who is an old friend of yours, will in all
probability be tried for murder."
The man gave a violent start.
"I don't know who you are," he cried, "nor how you
come to know what you do know, but will you swear that
this is true that you tell me?"
"Why, they are only waiting for her to come to her
senses to arrest her."
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